Narn i Hîn Maeglin
by fantasydancer
Summary: An elf maid rides alone into a small town late one night asking for one by the name of Gilglin. (There will be a better summary if I continue.)
1. Chapter 1

**____****Disclaimer: I do not own Middle-Earth, nor its people, sadly. I only own my OC's.**

**_A/N: I'm not sure when I will update, or if I even will do so. This is more or less a preview of a story I might write. Tell me what you think anyways. Encouragements have always kept me writing. _****Hannon lee****_, dear readers!_**

_Prologue_

It was in the four hundredth and ninety-fifth year of the Sun that found a young she-elf riding hard and fast one night into a small village of Men, the hood of her cloak pulled low over her face, and her Elven bow tucked beneath her cloak. She wore a hidden coat of Mithril under her fine tunic, and the legs of her leggings were tucked into the knee high Elven made boots.

She pulled her horse to a stop outside of the only small tavern and slung her leg over the side of the saddle, landing gracefully on the hard packed earth. The sound of raucous laughter could be heard from outside, and a dim light shown through the grimy windows of the shabby wooden structure. The woman patted her horse's side and whispered something foreign in its ear. To anyone nearby it seemed that the horse nodded its head in understanding, and those that did see this shook their heads in wonder. The Men in this village had had little dealings with the Elves, or their horses for that matter.

The young woman made her way into the tavern swiftly, her strides long-legged and purposeful. Everyone was too deep in their drinks though to notice her entrance and she made her way to the front of the room where the barkeep stood behind the counter, his back turned, polishing filthy glasses.

"Excuse me, sir?" She asked in the Common Tongue. "Do you know where I could find a Gilglin?"

The barkeep spun to stare at her and a hush suddenly fell over the crowd of drunken men. After a moment of stunned silence he asked, "How do you know him?"

The woman flipped her hood off, revealing her Elven ears and figure. "I need to speak with him. Where is he?"

The barkeep squinted his eyes at her. "You're more of his trouble-making kind, aren't you?" He spat on the counter in disgust. He hated Elves. Then again, he hated pretty much anything that breathed or took up space. Except ale. The barkeep believed it was the only thing useful in life.

The woman stood stock-still, her face impassive. "I mean no trouble with your people unless you plan to give me trouble."

The barkeep studied her a moment longer. "You'll find him where all criminals of his kind are. In the prison."

"Take me to him."

A man stood suddenly on shaking legs from one of the tables. "I'm the here sheriff! Sheriff here." He corrected, his words slurring.

"Then I wish to see him. Now."

The sheriff shook his head. "Ain't he receiving no visitors. He ain't."

No one saw her move but all of sudden the sheriff had a blade to his neck. A few of the men jumped, but none of them went to his aid. They didn't much like the sheriff anyhow. He was always arresting people for no reason at all, and most of the crimes he himself had been guilty of at one time or another. "Take me to him." She repeated calmly.

The sheriff nodded as best he could with the blade digging into his neck. He gulped. "Yes, ma'am." He laughed nervously. "Right this way, my lady."

The prison turned out to merely be a cellar behind the sheriff's house. While the sheriff was busy prying up the door, the woman waited patiently, her hand never leaving the hilt of her now sheathed sword.

Finally the door was pried up with a grunt and the sheriff stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The woman stepped forward slightly. She looked down into the dark space and smiled grimly at the squinting, filthy figure below.

"Hello brother."


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: The product of a long math class._**

* * *

Maeglin had served King Turgon as Chief and Lord of the House of the Mole for many years when he officially met the young maiden Culfinwen.

She had been beautiful. Fair of skin, her features defined, and her hair long, lustrous, and a dark rich auburn. She was only ever seen in garments of silver or gold. She was also a lady of Idril, and was almost always in her company.

When Maeglin was not busy studying his first love, he would spare glances to her. She was beautiful, he thought, but he desired only one heart, and it was one he would never have.

It was a night of a rare celebration and the ending of it had found Maeglin standing on one of the many balconies overlooking the city of Gondolin.

The sound of footsteps drew him from his quiet musings and he turned suddenly. The lady behind him jumped, startled.

"I am sorry, my lord. Am I disturbing you?" It was Culfinwen he realized. He had never spoken to her before.

He smiled gently at her. "Nay, my lady. It is Culfinwen, is it not?"

Culfinwen blushed slightly, surprised that a lord of Gondolin knew her by name. "Aye, my lord."

There was silence for a few moments. Finally Maeglin gestured and spoke, "Would you like to join me in admiring the city, my lady? That is what you came for, is it not?"

Culfinwen blushed again and stammered. "Oh, a-aye, my lord. Of course."

She moved gracefully to stand beside him, her mantel fluttering slightly when she walked, revealing the dark red hair beneath that had been pinned back with many crystals for the night's events.

It suddenly hit Maeglin just how beautiful she really was. The moon shone upon her, causing all her raiment to shimmer and her soft grey eyes to gleam.

Maeglin blinked and then turned back to the city. "It is a lovely night, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord. It is indeed. Though…I must confess something." She blushed suddenly as Maeglin turned to face her again. "I-I came for you, my lord."

Maeglin and Culfinwen's eyes met, and though it might have seemed sudden to most, a love grew between the two. Both forgot where they were and who they were as Maeglin took Culfinwen and kissed her deeply.

In the shadows of the palace walls Idril smiled with mixed relief and delight. _Now_, she thought, _maybe that fool cousin of mine will leave me be._ Though she felt some guilt having cast the spell upon her own lady, she was desperate to do anything to get Maeglin off her heels.

Within a month's time the two were married, and not long after Culfinwen was pronounced pregnant. Maeglin however, was the only one unhappy with this. He thought that perhaps his own offspring might turn on him as he did his own father.

So when the time came for the child to be born Maeglin began making plans to get rid of the child. But something happened he did not expect. Two children were born. Twins. A girl and boy.

Their skin was the same fairness of all their Noldor kin. The tufts of hair on the children's heads were inky black in color. They looked similar in face except for one thing: the girl's eyes were dark, like her father's. The boy's were a soft silver grey, like his mother.

Maeglin was even more so panicked when he heard the news of this. It would be harder now to be rid of them. For several years he bided his time, still plotting ways to be freed of them before they grew too old. Then one night he took both children, still wrapped in their blankets and took a little known passage out of the city. Once he was far enough away he left the children, abandoning them. When he returned to the city he would make it look as though the children had wondered too far in their play and had tumbled over the edge of one of the balconies.

But the children did not die. They awoke, still snuggled beside one another on the hard ground, their blankets tangled about them. The sun had risen long ago and at first they were confused and frightened. But they had each other and taking the other's hand they stepped began making their way down the long winding path. They were very young and knew little of the world around them save what they had heard from their parents.

It was a dangerous going, for the pass they followed was the Pass of Anach and the only inhabitants were the nefarious race of Orcs. But it was there that they, perhaps by some grace of the Valar, stumbled upon none other than Mablung of the Heavy Hand himself. He normally never made such reconnoiter trips through places like these, but he had thought it best to assess the situation with the Orcs himself.

He was startled at first when he had heard them traipsing down the path. He thought that perhaps a deer was stumbling through, and his hand automatically went to his sword hilt. But when he saw that it was only two children he lowered his arrow and stood stock still. They studied one another for a moment before the girl finally spoke in the Quenyan tongue.

"Sir, I am Morglin. This is my brother, Gilglin. Can you please help us?"

Mablung was bewildered and could not answer for moment. Two young children, probably no more than three or four Winters old, alone in the Pass of Anach. He didn't know very much Quenyan, but it was obvious that was all they knew, so he did his best to answer in return, "What are you doing here, children? Where are your parents?"

The children's faces relaxed when they heard him speak their own language. The boy answered this time. "We woke up at the edge of the woods. But we didn't go to sleep there." But he did not speak of where they were from. Even at such a young age they knew better than to divulge that kind of information to anyone.

Mablung was still absolutely baffled, but he nevertheless took the girl's hand and led her and her brother away with him. "Come," He said gently. "I will take you back to Doriath with me. There you will be safe."

* * *

"Morglin?" A hoarse voice called up.

"Gilglin. You are looking well."

Actually he wasn't. His hair was matted and unruly. Mud stained his clothes and face. Blood stained the front of his tunic, and he was missing one boot.

"The king requests our presence. Come." Morglin reached to take her brother's hand, ever wary of the bewildered sheriff behind her to ensure he had no treachery planned.

After Morglin had pulled him up she supported him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders to keep the weight off of his obviously weak ankle. Now that she could see better she noticed there were cuts and bruises covering him from head to toe. She 'tsk'd and then whistled for her horse who obediently came galloping up in mere moments. After Morglin had gotten her brother settled on her horse the sheriff had finally come out of his stupor enough to begin protesting.

"Now here wait a minute! Wait a minute here! You can't just take prisoner my. My prisoner!"

Morglin turned a calm gaze his way. "Sir, he is not under your jurisdiction for trial in the first place. He is not even of your race, as you people are fond of reminding me. But…if you insist upon keeping him here for trial and possible retribution for whatever crimes he may have committed I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to accompany me back to King Thingol's realm first to receive permission from him before proceeding."

The sheriff paled when she mentioned the King of Doriath. The people in his village didn't like to have anything to do with the Elves. _And especially with no kings_, he thought.

He waved them off, with a sneer for good measure. "But don't let me catch his sorry hide around here again!" He added as Morglin mounted in front of her brother.

Morglin turned her dark glance his way and suddenly the sheriff seemed to quail when he looked into her eyes. It seemed as though, in the darkness of the night, that she had no pupil, nor that he could see the whites of her eyes.

Then she slapped the reigns gently and her horse took off. The sheriff stood stock still, his mouth gaping as the two vanished into the trees beyond the settlement.

He knew one thing though. He _hoped_ that they never showed up again.


End file.
